


By Valhalla

by uglywombat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dom Steve Rogers, F/M, Porn, Smut, Viking Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: By request: Steve returns from the raids loaded with prizes and gold. On his return he discovers the wife he loathes has saved his kingdom from ruins. He thanks her.





	By Valhalla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jo).



> This was a request from the beautiful Jo for Viking Steve (yum). Thank you for requesting this... I had WAY too much fun.

The bitterly frigid gale bit at his worn face as the longboat sluggishly moved with the current, heavy with their bountiful rewards the Gods had deemed them worthy of. Their raidings of Wessex had been fruitful and their hoard would see them long through the following winter and beyond. 

His mood darkened as the longboats crossed into the fjord that would lead them to their kingdom, where his wife would be waiting on his return. The wife he’d been forced to take on to forge an alliance with the King of Denmark. His beautiful, quiet, insipid wife, who fucked him like a dead fish. Steve however was the man women went to bed dreaming of. 

Steve had vehemently refused an arranged marriage for years after the death of his one and only true love, torn from him by the Gods. When the time called for sons there would be tavern whores who would more than happily bear his children. He was a warrior and yearned for the freedom of the open waters. He did not wish to be tied down to a pitiful wife. 

By the luck of the Gods she would be gone or dead by his return. He could only pray and offer sacrifices that the kingdom had not been burnt to the ground thanks to her utter incompetence. 

“All will be well, brother.” He relaxed as his oldest friend, Bucky clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Give it time and one day you will grow to like her.”

“I pray the Gods have spared me from her,” Steve chuckled.

Bucky scoffed. “The Gods have gifted you the most beautiful woman, I would not be as ungrateful, brother. Perhaps she will be with child on your return and you can gift her to me when she has born you a son, for I would willingly take her off your hands.”

Steve bristled at his insolence. “Watch your tongue, brother. She is mine.”

“I jest,” Bucky laughed. “If she is that unpleasing find yourself a whore for the night. You dampen our joyful spirits with your sullenness.”

Tonight, they would feast under the eyes of the Gods and offer a sacrifice for their safe and bountiful return. It would be a feast to remember. 

Land came in sight, the smoke rising from the chimneys a welcoming sight. On the foreshore a crowd grew as they neared the village. His anger seethed as destroyed longhouses came into view, others blackened from fire. 

“Perhaps if I don’t murder my wife I will gift her to you after all, brother,” he snarled, his hand close to crushing the mast of the longboat and offering themselves to the Gods as sacrifices. Steve tensed as he watched you glide down the dock, your ladies behind you, and in your arms you held a small bundle. 

The almost-glacial wind whipped at your bare flesh as you waited on the dock, holding your baby boy close to your chest, the handwoven blanket protecting him from the polar air. On the eve of Steve’s departure, you had silently begged the Gods to take you from this world, from your vitriolic and brooding husband. You had expected to marry a man of your father’s choosing, that was the life of a Viking princess, but you had begged to the Gods that your husband would be a kind man. 

You had tried everything you could have, everything you were taught, to win your sullen husband over but it was to no avail. He had made it very clear that if given the chance he would have never married you, and that you were far beneath him. The Gods were testing him when they placed you in his household. 

You had been wed a mere month before he departed for his raid. 

You stood proudly on the dock as your husband disembarked the longboat, his strides hurried and firm against the aged wood. 

“What is this?” he snarled, his face inches from yours. 

“He is your son,” you answered incredulously.

  
“What in the name of the Gods have you done to my kingdom, you stupid whore!” The crowd stilled at his yelling, the wind violently whipping against you. 

“Your wife saved this village in your absence, your Earlship,” Lord Fury said approaching cautiously, before you could respond. “A heathen force from up north invaded two moons after you departed on your raid. If it were not for the Princess, the village would have been destroyed and your kingdom would be in the hands of another.”

Steve’s antagonistic eyes searched yours. “The Gods have blessed us all. Return to your family’s for tonight we feast. Bucky, prepare the sacrifice,” he announced to his people before marching past you towards your longhouse, disregarding you and your son. 

You fought back the tears that bristled as Bucky stood before you. “He will apologise when he comes to realise that he is a fool and the Gods have blessed you both with a beautiful son.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said, the embarrassment still burning fresh. 

He escorted you back to the longhouse, still warm from the fire. Around you slaves rushed to prepare for the feast. You helped where you could, stopping to feed your growing and demanding son when he deemed it appropriate.

You did not see your husband until the feast, where you were forced to sit beside him at the banquet table, the party raucous around you. By some miracle of the Gods, your son lay asleep in your arms, despite the cacophony of jovial cheers and songs that surrounded you. 

Your breasts ached, heavy with milk, and you were weary from the exhausting task list to prepare for the feast and the heavy shadow looming beside you. He had not uttered a word at you, despite wearing the dress he had stolen for you from Wessex. 

You watched husbands and wives reunited, unashamed in their lust. You watched whores work their way around the room, men gripping onto slaves as they carried heavy trays around the room. 

The smell, the raucous was overwhelming and you felt the nausea build and your head spin. You were silently grateful as your son began to fuss, clearly ready for his next meal. You had no interest in undressing before all of Steve’s men so you bid him goodnight and retired to your shared bedroom. By any luck Steve would find peace in between some whore’s legs that night. 

The room was quiet as your son suckled your bare breast. You discovered your pregnancy not long after Steve’s departure and you had thanked the Gods everyday for blessing you with this gift. Perhaps your child would bring love to you and Steve, the thought of an amicable marriage too much to bear. You had hoped Steve would be proud and on his return he would name the babe. You sighed bitterly and contemplated a life stuck under Steve’s shadow. 

The creaking of the floor compelled you to look up from your son’s sleepy face. 

Steve’s eyes hungrily fell to your exposed breasts. “I have come to apologise,” he said earnestly, approaching the bed with trepidation. “I have judged you unfairly. Thank you for protecting our kingdom and our people. You have proven yourself to be a good countess.”

You smiled warmly and relaxed. Perhaps Earl Steve Rogers was a kind man. “Thank you for leaving some of your most capable warriors to protect your lands and thank the Gods for protecting us.”

Steve nodded his eyes secured on his son. “Have you named the child?”

“No,” you said and encouraged Steve to come sit beside you. “I wanted him to meet his father first.”

“Bless the Gods, he is beautiful,” Steve let out a breathy sigh as his fingers trailed the child’s soft cheeks. “I will thank the Gods everyday for blessing me with a beautiful and strong wife,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “I was a fool and have treated you unkindly.”

“You were cautious,” you said, your hand coming to rest on his, “and that I understand. You were in mourning for the death of your true love and you longed to see the world. Political alliances do not always provide love in arranged marriages.”

Steve placed a soft, endearing kiss to your lips as your son pulled from your breast, cooing for his father . “May I?” 

You nodded. “Take your shirt off, he likes to feel your skin against his. It’s comforting.” Steve removed his shirt and you placed your son in his arms. 

You watched on as Steve rocked the baby in his arms, recounting tales of his adventures to Wessex and Mercia as they paced the room. He was a natural with his son and it warmed your heart. 

Finally asleep, Steve lay the baby into his small cot and sat beside you on the bed. His fingers cautiously pushed your hair behind your ear. “Tonight we start anew. We will not raid for months to come. I want to get to know my brave, strong wife and enjoy my time with her before the sea calls to me again.”

You pulled him into a searing kiss, his chest hot against your sensitive nipples. He returned the kiss fervently, his hand gripping the back of your neck, dominating you. You pliantly lift your hips to accommodate his large hands pulling your dress from your body.

You softly pepper the sacred tattoos adorned on his chest as he fumbled with the laces of his tight pants, rough scars illuminated by the glow from the candles. They were a testament, a narrative of his battle-worn triumphs. One day his life would end on the battlefield and he would be welcomed into the halls of Valhalla by Odin himself, and feast for eternity at the side of warriors. Until then, his body would narrate the story of his battles.

His lips breathlessly battled with yours as he beguiled you to sit on his lap, his back resting against the elaborately designed bedhead, fit for a King.

His hard cock rested against your thigh as his fingers deftly caressed the folds of your pussy. Your soft mewl caught against his mouth as his fingers delved deep in your wet channel. 

“You are as tight as the night I first took you, wife,” he groaned salaciously drawing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean, “and you still taste as sweet as mead from Valhalla itself.”

Gods, it had been so long since you had felt the pleasure only Steve could bring you. He was as talented and gifted in the sheets as he was on the battlefield. His dislike of you had done little to upset his knowledge of the female body.

“Tomorrow, we will make love all day, only leaving the bed to feed. Tonight my love I will fuck you under the Gods watchful eye as I have been without your touch for far too long.”

And as swiftly as his heart and changed for you, he pulled you down into his hard cock. Your hands frantically gripped around his neck as he manipulated you up and down his cock, your walls slowly stretching to accommodate him. 

This was what Valhalla would be. The pure, organic feeling of pain and pleasure. The overriding command of fingers against your clit drew short gasps and whimpers from your agape mouth. 

“That’s right, my obedient wife, ride me,” he chuckled, his mouth descending on your taut, sensitive nipple before gently nipping your bud. The deliciously raw sensation drove you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through your body. “Beautiful, my sweet wife,” he huskily encouraged you through your orgasm, his hands holding your face level to his before he claimed your neck with his teeth. A reminder to his people that you were his.

Before you could kiss him he flipped you over, pulling your hips up before penetrating you with such force you had to grip the furs to stop yourself from toppling over. 

This new, primal position drew out the lusty, emphatic cries you had been holding back for the sake of the sleeping babe. But by Valhalla, Steve was hitting you so deep and hard that you couldn’t contain yourself.

His hand connected with the flesh of your cheek as he plunged in and out of you with deft speed.

“Come for your Earl, sweet wife,” he chuckled, his chest glistening with small beads of sweat as he drove his cock in and out of your impossibly tight channel, “let the whole household know who you belong to.”

You were not aware that his words could affect you so, but by the Gods he had driven you into another room-spinning orgasm as he spilled deep within you, his hands gripping your thighs fiercely.

Steve collapses against your back, wedging you to the bed, balls deep within you. His lips met your damp skin, his tongue lathing as you giggled against his touch.

He pulled out of you before pulling you against his chest, his lips fervidly meeting yours.

“I believe you gave the Gods a show they could be envious of, dear husband.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I live and breathe for your comments!


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